This wasn't so much a travel memoir as more a self-exploration memoir, where the author just happened to be in Paris, London and Venice. It started out well with some nice descriptions of Paris and then went on to explore Steinbach's past, present and future - her life mapped out by reflections she has on a train, in a cafe, looking at a garden, chatting with strangers.
Steinbach does write good descriptions of places, once she gets down to it. Yet most of the book is about her inner thoughts, her Paris love-affair, and how much the author enjoys cooking - but without a real description of what is being cooked. All I knew is that chicken, mushrooms and butter were involved.
I liked her Freya Stark quotes, they really intrigued me and I'll be looking for her books next.
I wouldn't say this was a bad book, it's just that it was touted as a travel memoir - the sub-title states 'The Travels of an Independent Woman'. The author does travel through three cities, but it is more a introspective memoir with barely a nod to the cities themselves.